


he knows so much about these things

by everwanted



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Childhood Friends, Class Differences, Complicated Relationships, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Making Out, too many scene breaks maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-04-25 21:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22341457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everwanted/pseuds/everwanted
Summary: The contrast between Minghao’s smooth skin and long fingers is striking against Mingyu’s callouses and stubbiness.No, Mingyu concludes, it’s ugly. And it doesn’t form a whole. Not anymore.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	he knows so much about these things

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from the song [this charming man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYYZFx7_DS8) by the smiths, which is also where the inspiration for this stemmed from!
> 
> not beta'd so put on your typo-filtering glasses beforehand

Word around the area says there’ll be a party at the Xu’s tonight.

Except it’s not just a word—Mingyu has the letter in hands, paper wet where the droplets of the shower water hit it, paper crumbled where he’s held onto it far too tensely. He’s not going. Minghao should have never bothered with that pretty calligraphy of his or a fucking _letter_ when a text would’ve sent the message across just the same. It burns his hands so vividly he tosses it into the bathroom’s trash like it’s used tissue paper.

He’s _not_, he repeats to himself.

But Minghao comes to find him, like he always does, in one of his fancy sports cars while Mingyu’s slouched on top of the couch, pretending he can’t see him from the window. The horn echoes throughout the street for three awkward rounds before he hears the footsteps and the hard knocks on the door.

Mingyu opens, because he has no self-control, apparently.

“Why are you in your pajamas?” Minghao’s face is unreadable, as it often is. A long time ago Mingyu had been able to guess what he was thinking with ease—not anymore.

“Why did you invite me knowing I wouldn’t go?”

“You have to,” he groans.

“Because?”

“I literally came here to drag you with me when I should be _there_. Are you kidding me, Mingyu?”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Minghao hesitates, opens his mouth a couple of times before his jaw clenches. That look, Mingyu knows it. He sees the flash in Minghao’s eyes—he wants to push him back, over that piss poor excuse of a couch he hasn’t replaced even after his grandma passed, maybe punch and kick some sense into him. Mingyu would let it.

“Does it matter? Go get dressed, we’re running late.”

Mingyu exhales, gives in, at last. His bitterly stubborn ways only last so long in the presence of someone, in _Minghao’s_ presence. He doesn’t know when his resolve got so weak. “I don’t even have anything to wear.”

“Who cares when your face looks like that? Come on, I’ll help you out.”

Minghao’s hands on the wheel are steady and firm, just like his gaze. Mingyu is the one who spends the ride scrutinizing his features, comparing it to a boy he used to know, to a fading memory from the past that’s already been corrupted by time.

All in all, the rusty image of Minghao – dirty, bright-eyed like the rascal he used to be —, when in juxtaposition to this one man who sits next to him in a suit, smelling like perfume from a brand whose name Mingyu will never be able to pronounce, hair neatly brushed back — when he compares those two, somehow, they feel like two different people and yet the same of a whole, or maybe just the whole itself. Minghao _is_ Minghao, even if Mingyu has trouble comprehending it sometimes.

When his hand lands on the gear even though it doesn’t have to, it’s an automatic car, Mingyu knows it, his response to reach forward and hold Minghao’s hand is also automatic. Minghao doesn’t flinch, doesn’t say a word — words tend to ruin the moments they share these days. Instead, he squeezes Mingyu’s hand, and that’s enough.

The contrast between Minghao’s smooth skin and long fingers is striking against Mingyu’s callouses and stubbiness.

No, Mingyu concludes, it’s ugly. And it doesn’t form a whole. Not anymore.

_ “Pspsps. Come here.”_

_“They’re not cats, Mingyu.”_

_“It works the same.”_

_“No, it doesn’t. They’re not even paying attention to you.”_

_Mingyu turns around to shoot Minghao a glare, but he looks annoyed, gaze distant like his mind is somewhere else. For a second the idea of throwing bird food on Minghao to startle him sounds like a funny thing to do, but Mingyu stops himself when the other slouches over the bench, way-too-long bangs casting a shadow over his face._

_Mingyu feels like asking, senses something is wrong, but he knows Minghao doesn’t like to be pressed. Meanwhile, the doves in front of him are still furiously pecking the ground with that vacuum vigor only wild birds possess. They peck each other, too, and thirteen years old Mingyu thinks it’s hilarious how they can get so greedy over just a bunch of breadcrumbs._

_Maybe in his world, if they put a huge bowl of bibimbap on the table and he had to fight other kids to be able to eat what would maybe be his only meal of the day… yeah, _maybe_ he would understand them in that case._

_“The black one with the little dot didn’t come today,” he muses._

_That momentarily drags Minghao out of whatever he’s thinking. “Maybe it left.”_

_“To where?”_

_“I don’t know, wherever birds go to when they feel like leaving.”_

_“Don’t know why it would, we come here every day to feed them. Can birds really be that ungrateful?”_

_“Well, they’re animals. Maybe it just died.”_

_That cuts the conversation again. Mingyu throws a few more crumbs, watches as some of the doves fly away while others land and join the mass._

_“We should get going,” Minghao gets up. “I’m supposed to be meeting the couple again at four.”_

_“Oh, so it’s…”_

_“Serious, yeah.”_

Minghao, to no one’s surprise, has guests to tend to do. Mingyu is left to his own devices, in the garden, and he doesn’t dare venture into the manor any deeper. There is plenty to enjoy where he is.

This is a place of movies, after all: he’s surrounded by well-trimmed bushes of flowers he doesn’t recognize, probably foreign, lined with fancy trapezoids for floors whenever the patches of dirt die. There are statues scattered around each corner, sometimes a cupid, sometimes a woman, sometimes some Chinese creature he’s never memorized the name. Under the moonlight each one looks more pristine than the other, shining with grandeur and the beauty only the hands of a skilled artist would’ve been able to capture. There are quite a few guests as well, gleaming with the same all-illuminating celebrity, but he doesn’t dare come near anyone—he sticks out like a sore thumb as it is already and exacerbating the feeling of otherness is the last of his priorities.

But Minghao has other ideas. As always, he’s keen on getting Mingyu out of his shell, but that’s because he doesn’t understand that’s not what is actually is about.

Take it: he drags Mingyu into the salon, full of people he should’ve never come into contact with unless through newspaper news of the nouveau riche of Seoul, and he throws him into the wolves. One wolf, in specific, in the form a doll-like girl wearing a pretty red dress with big eyes that scan him from head to toe.

“This is Chengxiao, my cousin,” Minghao introduces him.

Except she’s not really, you’re adopted, he mentally adds, but bows to the girl nonetheless. She seems pleased despite the fact he clearly doesn’t belong there, talking to her. Mingyu wonders if she cares, if it’s really as obvious as he’s making it out to be.

“Kim Mingyu. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Minghao told me a lot about you, actually.”

Mingyu’s taken aback. “Oh, _did_ he?”

She giggles when Minghao shoots her a glare, but promptly bites her lower lip down in a gesture Mingyu can only read as _interest _when she focuses back on him. Sick interest.

“Childhood friends, right? Raised in the streets, together… it almost feels like something out of a drama,” she contemplates.

Except it’s not, it was his real life, it still kind of _is_, and it’s not one bit funny. But Mingyu laughs anyway, sets his eyes on her, trying to salvage something from there. There are rawness and that interest. “You wouldn’t believe it, trust me.”

Her eyes smile. “Then tell me?”

Of course, it leads to them in some random room, making out against the wall because they’re both way too tipsy and desperate to bother with reaching for the bed. Mingyu tastes her mouth, finds it bitter with the tang of alcohol, but licks her lips clean before descending kisses and light bites down her neck, all teeth. Like this is punishment, but whether for himself, for her or maybe Minghao, he can’t pinpoint.

Talking about the devil, he shows up a minute after. Knocks on the door with the same harshness as always, because he isn’t the type who knocks on doors, except when Mingyu is behind them. It’s one of the things in him that hadn’t changed.

Chengxiao pushes him away with little consideration before running a hand through her hair to make it look decent, pulls her dress down to its original length before she opens the door.

“Biǎo gē—”

“Your mother’s looking for you,” he says, curt, and she dashes off the corridor without even sparing Mingyu another glance or a mere goodbye like she knows she’s in trouble. Mingyu doesn’t find it within himself to feel guilty, especially not when Minghao doesn’t give him the time to, just locks the door behind them and corners him back against the bed until he has no choice but to let himself fall onto the mattress.

He’s waiting for Minghao to lash out, maybe finally punch him, but he doesn’t. He just stares down at Mingyu, expression contorted in a way Mingyu’s not used to seeing. He’s upset? Disappointed? _Mad_?

“Chengxiao’s a nice girl,” he risks it, chuckles dryly. He’s not drunk much, but it was enough to mess up with his wires.

“Yeah, and you’re a fucking… _God_, fuck if I know.”

“Whore?” he raises his brows.

“No,” Minghao almost interrupts him. “You’re just an asshole. Seriously, can’t you cooperate, Mingyu? I’ve been trying so hard, and yet you ruin everything.”

“I mean, you left us two alone in there. I thought it was obvious enough—”

Minghao covers his mouth, sinks one knee into the bed. “Shush. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Mingyu wants to protest, but Minghao is keen on not letting him speak.

“What do you think I invited you here for? Why do you think I keep on trying to bring you closer to my life? Why do you think I _care_ so much?”

Mingyu can’t reply, but he just shakes his head negatively.

“I…” Minghao falters. He takes the hand off, brows knitted together, but he just looks sad. Mingyu brings the hand closer to his lips, kisses every single inch of his palms devotedly.

“Why do you care, Minghao?”

He knows the answer. He knows the answer to all of those questions, but he likes carving it out of Minghao nonetheless, as if there’s an odd comfort in twisting the knife lodged in his stomach, somehow.

“Because I want you back.”

There it is, the one big impossible thing. They’ve had this conversation so many times and in a variety of ways, yet the outcome is always the same. Yet they can’t bury this behind themselves. It’s impossible, because they’re still there, together, in this present, and yet they are not. They can’t be.

Mingyu inhales deeply, places one hand on Minghao’s nape to pull him close until their foreheads are touching.

“I never left.”

Minghao scoffs. “But you’re not here in the way I need you to be.”

“Minghao, we aren’t the _same_. Not anymore. You know that you’ve changed, I’ve changed, our circumstances have changed. We can’t go back, and you know that—”

“I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to be a stupid kid running around in the mud with you again, I want you to be with me as we are right now.”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to scoff. “Right. Because you’d rather have grown up here, with all the luxuries you have, instead of in the street with the _mud_.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he sighs. “Why can’t you just put this shit in the past and move on? We’ve changed, yeah, but I didn’t change yesterday. Mingyu, it’s been _years_. Aren’t you tired of this push and pull?”

Mingyu grits his teeth. “Aren’t you tired of pretending you know anythi—”

Minghao kisses him so harshly the rest of the sentence dies in-between a clash of teeth and tongue, and Mingyu hates it. Hates how much he craves for Minghao’s touch, how he willingly lets the other push him back against the mattress as he hovers on top, hates how he’s physically stronger than Minghao in every possible way and yet the dominion he has over his being forces Mingyu to comply.

He hates it, he loves it, the knife is being twisted again and he can’t help but groan at the pain mixed with pleasure. With this ache he knows it’s real, _something_ is real, counterattacking whatever unreality he fights inside his mind.

When Minghao pulls back, a string of spit still connecting their lips, they’re both panting. Minghao’s pupils are so blown Mingyu can see his own face reflected there. Pitch darkness.

“Minghao…” his throat is dry.

“Shh.”

Words always ruin the moments they share these days. He can’t read Minghao, Minghao probably can’t read him either—if he could, he would understand, and maybe the same could be said for Mingyu as well. They’re past beyond any type of understanding, at least for now, at least for this moment.

Minghao’s thumb trails over Mingyu’s lower lip, swollen from the kiss, and a golden ring shimmers when it hits the light. Mingyu only takes notice of the piece of jewelry then, so delicate, a mere rim of metal perfectly wrapped around his finger. And then said finger is in his mouth while his hooded gaze is set on Minghao’s impossibly dark eyes, his teeth grazing over the skin to pull the ring out, slowly, scraping, agonizing.

Somehow, Mingyu can make it fit his pinky. He hadn’t thought anything so obviously Minghao-_esque_ would ever suit him.

Minghao sits up, on the edge of the bed, face between his hands.

“You have a party to take care of,” Mingyu states, as matter-of-factly as he can, but his voice still sounds coarse. “I should get going.”

“You haven’t even eaten anything, I thought you would’ve liked the desserts.” He laughs bitterly, but Minghao still doesn’t press beyond that, knows that’d be crossing too big of a boundary for them both. “Do you need a ride back home?”

“No, thank you. I’ll call someone.”

“Do you—”

“I’ve got money with me, Minghao,” he gets up, quickly enough that black pools on the corners of his view.

_“Why are you crying?”_

_“I’m not.”_

_Grandma rolls her eyes, resumes writing on her notebook of secrets and indistinguishable elder calligraphy. “Just sweating through your eyes, heh?”_

_Mingyu groans, hits his forehead against the table which prompts her hand to run amok and drag the pen through the page with a perfectly diagonal line over the text. “Mingyu!”_

_“I’m sorry,” he sniffles. “I’m just…”_

_“What’s _wrong_, baby?”_

_“Minghao is going to be adopted,” he blurts the words out almost incoherently, like voicing them aloud makes him have to face a reality he’d rather pretend isn’t there. “By some rich Chinese couple.”_

_“Is he leaving the country?” she frowns, putting the pen down. _

_“No, they live here. But what difference does it make, they’re dragging Minghao away and then I’ll be all alone and I’ll have no friends and—”_

_“Mingyu, you won’t be alone. I don’t think Minghao would let them separate you two.”_

_She gets up so she can hug him, offer some comfort, and Mingyu clings to her like a koala while he sobs against her shoulder. When it subsides a little his face’s covered with snot, which is unpleasant, to say the least, and Mingyu feels a little bit worse as the imminent threat of a million different scenarios pop up in his head._

_“They’re rich, why would they bother with dragging him here? He’s going to have everything we don’t. He’ll get better, _rich_ friends. I’ll be all alone.”_

_“Mingyu,” she squeezes him, looks right into his eyes. “Have some faith in Minghao. Aren’t you two best friends?”_

_He sniffles again. “I guess so…”_

_“Then trust him and stop thinking too hard about it,” she pats his shoulder. And then her expression shifts into something more complacent, a faint smile on her lips as if she’s thinking of a way to word what’s in her mind. “Sometimes we need to stop living inside our heads, you know.”_

To this day, Mingyu enters the house on his tiptoes, afraid he’ll wake her up. She’s not there anymore, though, she hasn’t been for two years now, but Mingyu keeps the rituals to keep his memories fresh. There’s a framed picture of her right on top of the coffee table in the living room, smiling at the camera in that dark red dress she loved. Sometimes it’s unbearable to face the picture, for all different reasons.

Like now.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Mingyu exhales. “Mingyu, you should stop being so stubborn! You’re like a bull sometimes! Stop living inside your head, throw away your pride! Right, I know that,” he scoffs at himself, pacing around the room. “Why am I even like this? When I’m here I like to pretend I’m all tough and mighty like I have some actual control over my life, but then he shows up and I just… give in! Like that! And yet I don’t, I can’t go beyond that, I don’t know if I can go beyond that, but maybe I _do_ want it, and I… I make no sense whatsoever. Maybe I’m going nuts.”

He sits down on the couch, eyes stinging, throat tight. Familiar feeling. Mingyu stares at his hands for a second, takes notice of the ring, now a ghost weight around his pinky. Upon closer inspection, it’s carved with little waves, almost unnoticeably there, a name written in Chinese characters on the inside. _Xu Minghao_. Mingyu doesn’t know Mandarin, but this a given.

Minghao will definitely be back for it, sooner or later, so Mingyu considers his options. The couch cracks under his weight when he shifts, a sore reminder it probably won’t last more than a couple of days.

It’s also a stabbing reminder of who Minghao is, and who he is _not_. The ring grows a little heavier, stings like it wants to burn.

“Hey,” Jihoon pokes him with his feet, prompting Mingyu to drag himself from under the car. “Your friend’s here, he wants to talk to you.”

“Who?” Mingyu croaks. After a good hour of straining his eyes, the lightning of the garage seems way too bright and menacing, and he can barely make out Jihoon’s features.

“The rich Chinese one,” and he’s off, indifferent. Very Jihoon.

It’s the moment Mingyu had been waiting for the past few days, but Minghao couldn’t have arrived at a worse time. Mingyu’s sweaty, dirty with oil and dust, and his shirt is clinging to his torso in a way that could be sexy if he didn’t feel so outright disgusting. Minghao’s outside, leaning against his sports car, sunglasses hiding his face.

“Sorry, but we don’t fix luxury cars in here, sir.”

Minghao takes off the shades just in time for Mingyu to see him rolling his eyes. “Looking good, Gyu.”

“Same goes to you,” he laughs, dry. It’s not even a sarcastic comment, Minghao always looks good, and Mingyu knows that if he didn’t have as much money as he does know, he would still know how to dress.

Or—maybe Mingyu is biased.

As expected, Minghao’s eyes immediately set down on his hands, taking notice of what he had come there to retrieve. “You’re still wearing my ring.”

“Oh,” Mingyu feigns surprise, but then it shifts into real surprise once he realizes the state of the jewelry. “I’m sorry, it got horribly dirty, but it should be fine with just some scrubbi—”

Minghao doesn’t listen, because when _does_ he listen. He wipes the car oil off on his beige coat like it’s nothing, then puts it back on his thumb, seemingly satisfied.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Mingyu comments, but then Minghao is fishing out his wallet, handing him a bank check for some reason. Mingyu feels his blood pressure drop a notch when he reads the number, legs wobbling, but thankfully he’s able to support himself against the car’s door before he faints in the middle of the street. “What the fuck? Is this a joke?”

“No, why would it be one?” Minghao quirks a brow. “It’s how much the ring is worth.”

“Almost three million won, are you kidding me? What’s this for?”

“I’m serious,” Minghao chuckles. “Mingyu, don’t be ashamed of yourself when I say this, but I know what you were going to do with the ring if I had given you a few more days. I don’t care much about it, but it was a gift from a relative so it’s not like I can simply _lose_ it, otherwise I would’ve let you.”

Shame and guilt wash over Mingyu at the fact Minghao _knows_, but also there’s a new spark igniting within him, something he can’t pinpoint.

“You… knew.”

“I was in your shoes once, remember? Perhaps even worse. No family, no nothing in this country. We are not so different from each other when you get to the bottom of it.”

“Right,” Mingyu concludes. “Right.”

He steals a glance at the splotch on Minghao’s coat, then at the ring—and then at the sky, as if behind that blinding sun and the clouds, he’d see his grandmother’s face yelling his name with a knowing smile.

“Now get in the car, loser, we’re going out.”

His jaw drops. “I’m literally working. How shameless can you be?”

“I told Jihoon I’m taking you with me. Don’t worry, I paid him extra too.”

_What the fuck_. “I also look disgusting right now, you know.”

“I’ll take you home so you can shower. Then we’ll do whatever you want.”

Mingyu can’t help his smile. This situation is beyond ridiculous, it’s plainly absurd, but he’ll play along with it, for once, see where it goes. “Whatever I want?” He ponders for a moment, takes a few steps closer to Minghao, wrapping his dirty arms around his shoulders without caring whether the coat will be salvageable later. “Wanna go feed the ungrateful doves in the park again, for old time’s sake?”

“Those are probably all dead,” Minghao snorts too.

“Yeah, hopefully the new ones will be more considerate.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> also mechanic mingyu is a very hot concept, time to write more of it


End file.
